Is This Guy A Huge Douchebag? You Be The Judge

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Fraternity date parties are some of the most exciting nights of the Greek experience. A night of trading in plastic liquor bottles and pastels for bow ties and Belvedere is a welcomed change of pace for your average fraternity man. It’s a recipe for a night of debauchery that sometimes culminates in coitus (unless you’re the creepy brother who slipped through the cracks) but more often than not just ends with a sloppy OTPHJ in the grimiest corner of the basement dance floor. Gotta take what you can get and have zero shame in it, and the first date party of my pledge semester was no exception. While it wasn’t necessarily the most fun I’ve ever had, it’s certainly the most memorable; I’m still subject to some good-natured ribbing to this very day because of the events that transpired that evening.

Let’s start off by saying my pledge class was lucky to have even been allowed to attend our date party. We were, quite literally, the worst pledge class ever. We sucked. As our pledge master so eloquently put it, “I would rather stick my dick in a meat grinder that somehow had an STD than keep you guys around.” We couldn’t even complete the simplest and most trivial pledge tasks without fucking up. One of these fuck ups was how I ended up meeting my date, the eventual “star” of the evening.

We were punitively tasked with collecting 169 pennies between all of us, each one being minted in the year our chapter was founded. One day I was sitting in Spanish class and this moderately attractive brunette walked past me to her seat, pockets jingling like the bells on Santa’s sleigh. I turned around and asked her if, by chance, she had any pennies — and by God did she. This woman was a hoarder of pocket change. She opened her bag to check and I thought I was looking at a depository of the federal mint. I was half expecting Scrooge McDuck to come out of nowhere and swan dive into it. I momentarily wondered if they gave her a discount on her tuition if she paid in nickels; that was the only logical explanation I could fathom for why this woman would have so much change with her. That, or she was a dancer at a Jewish titty bar. Needless to say, I hit my pledge class’ quota of pennies. Because the date party was that evening and I was TFTC to have found a date up to that point, I politely extended an invitation for this currency queen to accompany me that night.

It’s worth noting that our date parties are at our fraternity house. Why is this? Our treasurer is a cheap and worthless fuck who decided to save the money for an expensive venue in lieu of things like an ice luge and Patrón. Being the gentleman I am, I show up at this girl’s dorm room at about 10 p.m. that evening to pick her up and walk her to the fraternity house.

We arrived to the house via a back alley and I had to ignore the question “why do you have to use the back door to get in the house?” Cause I’m a fucking pledge, alright? Just be happy you’re here and not at some GDI 10-person “rager” drinking Mountain Dew and watching some kid named Oliver totally crush Rainbow Road on N64. We walk in the basement, grab a mixed drink from some of my “volunteer” pledge brother sober monitors, and head to the dance floor. This girl immediately skips all formalities, and about 2 minutes in we’re doing the dirty bump and grind in the exact spot on which I had cleaned up a pile of puke that very morning. Oh, the wonders of the house.

The rest of the night is hazy for me, but the next part I distinctly remember is walking through a campus parking lot back to my dorm room. My date had just asked me if I had a condom, and I had tried to contain my excitement and act like I’d been there before.

Then things went downhill. At first, it was a stumble from my date. Then, it was a complete face plant — in front of a cop.

He immediately stops us and asks us where we’re coming from. Me, being the blackout star pledge that I am, say that I’m coming from our rival fraternity’s date party, and tell the officer that I am this girl’s “sober” walk home as she obviously had a little too much to drink. Either this cop wasn’t born yesterday or I’m not as good of a bullshitter as I thought, because he immediately asks for both of our IDs. Fuck. I look over at my date and she starts taking her ID out. I utilize this momentary distraction… and book it.

I sprint away and don’t look back. I ran like I was fucking Usain Bolt chasing a car full of gold medals.

The next morning, I get a call from the girl. Recently released from the drunk tank, she apologizes for her actions and for embarrassing herself. Turns out she was actually blacked out and didn’t remember me bailing on her. I never told her that I completely ditched when the cop showed up and left her to get arrested.

My philosophy is “every man for himself.” Am I an asshole, or is this normal behavior for a drunk, underage pledge?

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